A Leap Of Faith
by Girl in a White Dress
Summary: So Scully saw a spaceship. Now what?


Title: A Leap Of Faith

Author: Melanie-Anne

Email: melani_anne@yahoo.com 

Rating: PG

Category: Vignette, minor angst

Spoilers: Biogenesis/Sixth Extinction/Amor Fati

Summary: So Scully saw a spaceship. Now what?

A/N: Thanks to Getty for giving me the go-ahead to post.

* * *

There comes a time in one's life where you have to face the possibility that everything you've ever believed in is a lie. My mother raised me to love her God; she took me to church every week and taught me to believe in miracles. When I was twelve, I made Him my God and decided that, more than anything, I wanted to be a nun and serve Him.

Sometimes I think of the girl I used to be: a young, eager child so ready to accept things out of faith. What happened to her? There are moments when I long for the blind faith I had as a child. Mulder has faith like that. He's forever looking at things with an open mind, always searching for extreme possibilities.

When I was sixteen, I fell in love with science and felt I could better serve God by helping people. I wanted to be a pediatrician, a far cry from where I eventually landed up. It's almost funny, in a sad way, that is.

Some people argue that one can't be both a scientist and a Christian. To be honest, I have been neglecting my faith these days. The cross around my neck is a symbol of that faith, and yet it is so much more besides. It's a reminder of what I've survived: Tooms, Duane Barry, that hellish summer when I ended up in Antarctica, cancer . . . losing Emily.

A week ago, I stood on a beach in Africa, staring at something I don't want to admit. If what I saw really was an alien spacecraft, then . . . 

I don't know.

On a very superficial level, it would mean that Mulder was right. When I was first partnered with him, I'd joked with my mother that I'd be hunting UFO's. Mulder's reputation as Spooky was not unknown to me. In those early days, I'd never imagined being where I am now, being _who_ I am now.

On a deeper level, it means that everything I learned in Sunday School was wrong. That . . . 

I really don't _want_ to think about it. Ha! As if not dealing with it is going to change anything.

So now I found myself standing in my church. The late afternoon sunlight shines through the stained glass window. The Madonna smiles beatifically down at me, the Christ child cradled in her arms. For a moment the familiar bitterness returns as I think of the child that I knew all-too-briefly, and then lost. My hand covers my belly, my womb forever barren.

"Can I help you, Miss?"

I turn at the unfamiliar voice. How long has it been since I was at church? This priest must be new. He's young and looks like he's come straight out of the seminary. I realize I'm staring, and quickly look away.

"Miss? Is everything alright?"

"I'm . . . fine." Fine. A four-letter word I know Mulder hates. I hate it too, but find myself using it more and more these days.

The priest doesn't push me. I notice that his eyes are old, far too old for the rest of his face. Something about him reminds me of Albert Hosteen. Albert, who visited me in my apartment when my world was falling apart, who prayed with me . . . who had been in a coma then. Yet I have to believe he was there. If not, then I'm losing my mind too. Maybe I can have Mulder's old padded room?

What the hell, I had come here to talk to someone.

"My name's Dana Scully. I was looking for Father McCue . . ."

"He's visiting some of the elderly parishioners today . . . Wait, are you Margaret's Dana?"

I nod. No one's called me that in years, not since I was a little girl.

He smiles and clasps my hand in his. His grip is firm and warm. "I'm Father Andrew. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

I used to be a very trusting person. Too trusting, in fact. Mom always used to worry that I'd go off with a stranger without thinking twice. Mulder trusts no one aside from me, and it took him ages to let himself do that. And now he's the only one I trust completely. But something about Father Andrew inspires openness. I find myself sitting in a pew, telling him about the rubbing, Mulder's illness and my trip to Africa. He listens patiently.

". . . And so, Father, I'm lost. Despite everything that's happened, everything I've seen, I still can't bring myself to accept it. I hardly thought about it while I was looking for Mulder, but now . . ."

"Now he's well again and you have time to think."

I nod. "If I accept that what I saw really was a . . . a spacecraft, it would mean that everything I've ever believed in was . . . wrong." I feel guilty telling a priest that the Church may have taught me wrong, but he doesn't seem to take offence.

"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth."

"Genesis 1:1." I remember learning about creation in Sunday School. It had fascinated me that everything had come from nothing. It still does.

Father Andrew nods. "If everything is from God, then surely this craft you saw was too? There are worlds beyond this one, Dana."

"Do you believe in . . . aliens?" Did I just ask that? I sound like Mulder now.

"If our world was the only one that contained life, it would be a waste of a universe, don't you think?"

I never thought of it that way. I think of Mulder's poster hanging in our office. I want to believe, really, I do. It's just an awfully big leap of faith for me to make right now.

"Dana, I wish I could explain everything neatly, but I can't. God never meant for us to understand everything. You may look for truth in a different manner than I do, but ultimately it's the same truth."

I'm too scared to ask what that truth is; scared I've misunderstood him.

"Everyone has times where they doubt their faith. Don't give up on what you feel in your heart, Dana. God has a plan for you."

I feel somewhat relieved now that I've discussed my thoughts with someone else. I'm glad I came here today. I stand up and thank Father Andrew. Before I leave, I light a candle: for Mulder, so miraculously healed, for Emily, for Melissa, and for Samantha.

My faith is not lost. It is still there, keeping me going. I realize now that without it, I wouldn't have had the strength to face that artifact. I wouldn't have had the stamina to keep looking for Mulder. I wouldn't have been able to see Albert Hosteen kneel with me on my living room carpet, even as he lay dying hundreds of miles away. 

I call my mother when I get home and tell her that I'll be coming to Mass with her this Sunday. I tell her I met Father Andrew today and I hear her hesitate.

"Who, Dana?"

"Father Andrew. I just spoke to him."

"Honey, the new priest is Father McGuire."

Which one of us is wrong? I see my reflection in a mirror as I reply. A beam of light catches my cross. "Young guy, blonde hair, pale blue eyes?"

"I don't know who you saw. Father McGuire is bald, with brown eyes and glasses."

I hang up, mystified. Who did I see? I think of my father sitting in my armchair the night he died. I think of Albert. I think of my vision of Emily. Unbidden, a fragment of a childhood memory verse springs to mind . . . _for thereby hath some entertained angels unaware_.

I smile as I finger my cross, and quietly thank God for sending me Father Andrew.


End file.
